"It didn't show up tonight. That's the thrill--the unexpectedness of it." "Bah! You must've dreamed it. There's no more aggressiveness in that lad than in KoKo, your canary." "Don't you believe it, Dr. Carl! The trouble is that he's a genius, and that's where your psychology falls flat." "Genius," said the Doctor oracularly, "is a sublimation of qualities--" "I'll tell you tomorrow how sublime the qualities are," called Pat as she skipped out of the door. 4 The Transfiguration The car slid smoothly along a straight white road that stretched ahead into the darkness like an earth-bound Milky Way. In the dim distance before them, red as Antares, glowed the tail-light of some automobile; except for this lone evidence of humanity, reflected Pat, they might have been flashing through the cosmic depths of interstellar space, instead of following a highway in the very shadow of Chicago. The colossal city of the lake-shore was invisible behind them, and the clustering suburbs with it. "Queer, isn't it?" said Pat, after a silence, "how contented we can be with none of the purchased amusement people crave--shows, movies, dancing, and all that." "It doesn't seem queer to me," answered Nick. "Not when I look at you here beside me." "Nice of you!" retorted Pat. "But it's never happened to me before." She paused, then continued, "How do you like the Doctor?" "How does he like me? That's considerably more to the point, isn't it?" "He thinks you're nice, but--let's see--introverted, repressed, and ill-adjusted to your environment. I think those were the points." "Well, _I_ liked _him_, in spite of your manoeuvers, and in spite of his being a doctor." "What's wrong with being a doctor?" "Did you ever read 'Tristram Shandy'?" was Nick's irrelevant response. "No, but I read the newspapers!" "What's the connection, Pat?" "Just as much connection as there is between the evils of being a doctor and reading 'Tristram Shandy'. I know that much about the book, at least." "You're nearly right," laughed Nick. "I was just referring to one of Tristram's remarks on doctors and lawyers. It fits my attitude." "What's the remark?" "Well, he had the choice of professions, and it occurred to him that medicine and law were the vulture professions, since lawyers live by men's quarrels and doctors by men's misfortunes. So--he became a writer." "And what do writers live by?" queried Pat mischievously. "By men's stupidity!" "You're precious, Pat!" Nick chuckled delightedly. "If I'd created you to order, I couldn't have planned you more to taste--pepper, tabasco sauce, vinegar, spice, and honey!" "And to be taken with a grain of salt," retorted the girl, puckering her piquant, impish features. She edged closer to him, locking her arm through his where it rested on the steering wheel. "Nick," she said, her tones suddenly gentle, "I think I'm pretty crazy about you. Heaven knows why I should be, but it's a fact." "Pat, dear!"